Seeking a New Landscape
by corvus12
Summary: You are Clint Barton. Your assignment: track down the world's most notorious assassin. What happens when you come in close and you see something in their eyes, something that reminds you of choices made and chances given in your own past? What happens when you think your target is looking for a new way of life, a new landscape against which to be defined. Do you make your own call?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

April 3, 2006 – 8:45am, Los Angeles

"Ah, Ms. Matthers, please let me introduce you to Alvin Benton. He will be joining us in the R & D division as head of security. Benton this is Mr. Cross' personal assistant Laura Matthers."

Natasha smiled sweetly and extended her hand, taking a moment to give the man her full attention even while she seemed to be glancing off to the side with disinterest. He was certainly built for security. Broad shoulders, athletic build. She noted that he had particularly strong looking arms. It was his smile that caught her attention though. It was really something approaching a shit-eating grin, though turned down just enough to almost avoid giving offense. His obvious interest in letting his gaze rest on her for what was at least 20 seconds longer than decorum would permit was neither surprising nor particularly worrisome. It wouldn't be the first time she'd had to fend off the interest of a man in the pursuit of her mission objectives. Sometimes you had to feed the fire, at others you had to know how to douse it.

"Mr. Benton, a pleasure," she drawled, sounding none too sincere and taking her hand away almost as quickly as she had offered it. Benton just widened his smile, the crow's feet at his eyes crinkling slightly as he said, "Believe me, Ms. Matthers the pleasure is most definitely all mine."

"Yes, well," broke in Keeshan before the awkward situation could continue, "we do have a lot to see, so if you don't mind following me, Mr. Benton?"

Benton nodded, giving Natasha one more quick glance, his eyes taking her in from her Louboutin heels to her fiery red hair, one more smirk dancing across his features before he turned to follow Keeshan towards R & D. Natasha watched him move. Definite military training. There was a quickness and smooth sureness in his gait that belied the somewhat flippant air he had presented. That wasn't unusual in a head of security by any means, of course. Still. Natasha watched his back and narrowed her eyes as Benton turned the corner. Perhaps he would be worth keeping an eye on after all.

* * *

><p>Clint let out a sigh as he eased into the chair in his new office and looked around at his surroundings. Not a bad size, though certainly not a prime location. The head of security of R &amp; D was obviously a position that garnered some perks, but not enough to make it cushy. It was ground floor for one thing and the view was unimpressive to say the least. He was expected to work at this job. Fair enough, it was likely to be the hardest assignment of his life, so he'd definitely be putting in the hours, they just wouldn't be centring around security for Cross Technologies. He thought back to his meeting with 'Ms. Matthers' and smiled. It was by no means his first glimpse of the infamous Black Widow, or even the first time they had been in the same room, but it was definitely the first time she had been aware of his scrutiny. By all appearances she wasn't terribly impressed. "Well darlin'," he drawled to himself under his breath, "there's plenty of time for that." In the meantime he had a cover to establish and intel to collect before he could even begin on his mission proper. It was definitely going to be a long day.<p>

Clint spent the next week with his head to the ground. He acted the way he thought any new head of security for a fast rising tech company on the cusp of making an international name for itself ought to. He introduced changes that would 'improve' the way things were done, since of course his ideas had to be better than any protocols established by forebears that had ended up on the street. He got into the face of every subordinate he had, riding their asses until they followed these 'innovations' whether they liked them or not. He sucked up to his superiors, especially Keeshan whenever possible, but did it in such a way that it didn't quite look like sucking up. His eye was on every project currently under way in R & D, and given that he was instituting brand new security protocols across the board he was able to get up close and personal with details on all of them without raising any alarm bells.

As a final grace note to the persona he had established, and quite frankly to make the days less interminable, he also made sure to allow his eye to wander across the bodies of every attractive female in the office who wasn't his superior (Cross wasn't exactly forward thinking in his organizational politics so there weren't any) without allowing things to get anywhere near probable cause for a harassment suit. He made sure to pay special attention to the devastatingly beautiful Laura Matthers.

So far that last bit wasn't panning out at all. Apparently she had decided he wasn't worth any of her time, so she gave him the ice queen treatment. He shrugged it off. That meant he wouldn't have an easy time getting any direct intel from her, but at least it also meant he didn't need to be 'on' all the time around an operative much more highly trained in deep cover than he was. In a way he was relieved, albeit a little bit put out.

At the end of the week he decided it was time to bring Coulson up to speed. He used his burner phone to leave a short message on the dead-drop machine. "Hi mom, things in the new job are going _great_. I hope we can have dinner soon. My love to dad." He smiled as he hung up.

Nine hours later Clint walked into the unassuming restaurant and sat at a convenient booth, smiling at the waitress as she gave him the menu.

"Can I get you something to drink, Sweetie?" she asked glancing appreciatively at Clint as she held her pen above her notepad.

"Just ice water," said Clint flashing his most winning smirk.

"You got it, Sugar," she said with an alluring smile of her own as she took in Clint's biceps. "Our specials are on the back. Don't hesitate to call if you need anything." She put some special emphasis on the last word.

Clint watched as she sashayed away from his table, assuming the extra sway in her step was for his benefit.

"You're incorrigible, Barton," said a voice from behind him, "I swear it's a full-time job keeping you on point."

"C'mon Coulson," he murmured with a grin as he looked down at his menu, "you can't really tell me you're complaining. I mean that *is* your job after all."

The voice from the other booth sighed, but Clint could tell there was more behind it than a weary desire for more professionalism from his often wayward agent. "What's the problem," he asked sharply, "new intel?"

"No, just a re-adjustment of your mission parameters," said Coulson evenly, pretending that he was talking on the cell phone he was holding. Clint's hands tightened on the menu.

"What do you mean 're-adjustment'?"

"Fury wants you to look into some work going on at Cross. It looks like there's some kind of bleed-out between something Cross has just started developing and high level Stark-tech that that's been under wraps for the last year and a half."

Clint supressed a groan. "Look Coulson this assignment is going to be tricky enough without any other bullshit getting in the way. Trying to neutralize a threat like the Widow's going to demand *all* of my attention, I can't start sticking out my neck further than I already have to start sniffing into some damn top secret research project because Stark can't keep his tech in his pants."

"What's the matter Barton, can't you multitask?" asked Coulson dryly. Before his agent could reply he continued, "Look, you're the one who requested that you be inserted into the op site. You could have done the whole thing from your normal vantage point, but for some reason you wanted to get up close. Well, now you're up close and personal and as head of security for R & D you're in the ideal position to get SHIELD what it wants. Not to mention the fact that getting closer to Romanoff can only help. She's Cross's PA and who knows what dirt she's already dug up? We don't know what the Red Room already knows, or even why they'd go to the trouble of inserting their top agent here given the intel we've had on them and Cross already. We also don't know how the bleed-out occurred. We don't know if it's Stark, or Stane, or just garden variety corporate espionage. That's way too many unknowns for us to let it lie and we need to get this thing sewn up. This isn't a request Barton, it's an order from on high."

Clint blew a long hiss from between his teeth, but smiled when the waitress returned with his ice water.

"See anything you like?" she asked with a knowing smile on her full lips.

"Yeah, just give me the special…to go," he said no longer interested in continuing the flirtation. "I just remembered that my boss is an asshole and I left a shit pile of work at the office."

The waitress' face fell slightly, but she only shrugged as she walked away. "Your loss, Sugar." Clint sighed.

"Cross is former CIA," said Coulson as he stood up, leaving a few bills on the table as a tip, "keep your nose to the ground."

"CIA," scoffed Clint, "those assholes are pussies. The day a former CIA operative even makes me sweat is the day I need to hang up my bow."

"I hope you're right Barton. Regardless watch your six."

"I'm a big boy Coulson, don't worry about me," replied Clint with a grin.

* * *

><p>Natasha tailed Benton after he left the office late that evening. She had pretended to leave at her regular hour, there was no reason for her to stay late tonight, but had doubled back and found a comfortable vantage point from which she could see his office. Like a good new employee he had stayed past regular business hours, holed up in his office, the light from his computer screen playing across his chiseled features until he had finally decided that he had had enough for the day. She didn't know what he had been doing, but to all appearances he had simply put in some extra time to make sure he had a handle on everything that was now under his purview. Certainly he had not bothered leaving his office, even when there was no one left in the building aside from the maintenance staff, and he appeared to be engrossed mostly in the stack of files Keeshan had left on his desk and whatever he was viewing on his computer.<p>

Natasha relaxed slightly the longer she watched him. Maybe he was just the new head of security. Of course it was far too early for her to jump to any conclusions. At the very least he was good at playing his part without looking like he was playing.

After the office Benton drove to his apartment, a nondescript one in Echo Park, and stayed inside for an hour before leaving to go to an out of the way diner. He sat down in a booth and, after apparently making eyes at a waitress who looked more than a little interested, he proceeded to peruse the menu, his hand often cupping his jaw or moving back to run through his hair as he turned his face away from the window. Natasha straightened immediately. He was good. But she was better. A casual observer might buy into the motions Benton was telegraphing, but Natasha saw it for what it was, a way of hiding the fact that he was actually speaking to someone. She took in the area immediately surrounding him and noticed the man in the booth behind him. Dark suit, short haircut, nebbish appearance in general. He was looking off in the opposite direction and apparently talking on his cell phone. So, Mr. Benton had a handler did he? This changed things considerably. Maybe she would have to turn up the heat after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The reception Cross was giving for Hammer Industries as part of the new 'relationship' that was being brokered between them was starting to make Clint want to crawl out of his skin. He didn't like hobnobbing with the 'elite' members of society at the best of times, so doing it when he was also trying to maintain deep cover and suss out the motivations of perhaps the world's deadliest assassin was starting to give him a migraine. It didn't help that William Cross and Justin Hammer seemed intent on trying to out-douche each other. If he had to witness one more bit of glad-handing one-upmanship between them, all in the name of collegial good cheer of course, he was going to puke.

Well, might as well wash the bad taste down with another swig of bourbon. The ice in Clint's glass clinked as he swirled the remnants of his drink before downing it in one long gulp. He gritted his teeth as the harsh liquid coursed down his throat and wondered how bad of an idea it would be for him to go to the bar for another. Given his circumstances and personal history probably a pretty bad one.

"Is it the alcohol or the company?" asked a voice playfully from behind him and Clint turned with a newly pasted smile on his face to look directly into the sparkling jade eyes of 'Laura Matthers'.

He made sure to let his eyes wander over her form-fitting party dress before opining, "I can guarantee you that I have no complaints at all about the present company."

Matthers had the good grace to blush as she looked down demurely and smiled. She leaned into Clint conspiratorially and stage whispered, "I'm not a big fan of these things either. They cut into my working-after-hours-to-get-all-of-my-projects-done time." She shrugged. "I guess that's what weekends are for, right?"

He nodded in return, his smile perhaps a touch more genuine as he let himself look at her more closely. Dammit but she was a beauty, her cascading crimson ringlets the perfect frame for her milky skin and the sparkling green lustre of her wide eyes. Clint almost shook his head as his grin tightened once more. What the hell was he doing? He told himself to shake himself the fuck out of whatever was going through his poor excuse for a brain. Was he some damn newbie on his first mission? If he was going to let a pretty face, no matter how outlandishly beautiful, turn his head then he might as well let the Widow knife him in the throat now and save them both a lot of trouble.

"At times like that," he drawled with a wink, "I just tell myself that there has to be _some_ benefit to coming into the office." He made sure to let his gaze rest meaningfully on her face for a few lingering seconds before he sighed and looked at his drink. "This," he said with a shake of his head, "isn't really helping with everything else though."

"Not interested in climbing the corporate ladder?" asked Matthers with as she tilted her head towards the place where Cross and Hammer were holding court with an entourage of sycophants.

"Let's just say I also have enough waiting for me on my desk to make even the most pleasant of social situations seem like a bad idea. And this," he said waving his empty glass at the scene before him, "hardly qualifies as pleasant. Still…the new head of security can't be seen to be remiss with two such luminaries as William Cross and Justin Hammer in attendance now can he?"

"No indeed," said Matthers, taking a slow sip from her own drink, something sweet and fruity by the look of it, "and at least Mr. Cross has sprung for the high end stuff."

Clint smiled again and was about to see if he could get a further read on the Black Widow in order to ascertain what had prompted the sudden change from ice queen to sympathetic co-worker when she apparently beat him to the punch. Allowing an uncomfortable grimace to appear on her face Matthers glanced down at her drink. She seemed to make an internal decision and then looked up at him again, her features conveying nothing but open sincerity. "I think…that is," she stopped herself before starting again. "I'm worried that I may have given you a bad first impression when we met."

Clint raised one of his eyebrows enquiringly, but didn't say anything.

She gave a small huff, "That is, I think we started things off on the wrong foot." She gazed directly into his eyes, her own narrowing slightly as a small smile curved on one side of her full lips. "I'm afraid you caught me on a bad day…a bad week really," she admitted, shaking her head ruefully. "You see I never really got along with your predecessor and I was in the middle of a deadline for a project that was already a week behind and had to be finalized *_now*_. You know how it is." She continued to hold his gaze, her look turning the statement almost into a question.

"Sure I do no problem at all." Clint responded with a smile. "Really no apology is necessary, I didn't even notice that there was anything to apologize for, but it sure is darn nice of you to say so Ms. Matthers."

"Please, call me Laura," she said with a tilt of her head and pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"It'll be my pleasure…Laura. And please, call me Alvin"

"Ok Alvin, I um," she paused for a moment.

"Yes?"

Before Clint could find out what she wanted to say they were interrupted by a nasal voice that forced them both to turn and look directly into the faces of William Cross and Justin Hammer.

"And here she is Justin as requested," said Cross with a wave of his hand, "apparently in deep conversation with our new security chief. Benton," said Cross with a dismissive nod of his head to Clint before turning his full attention to Matthers. " The secret of my success," he whined with a smile even more disingenuous than the ones he normally wore. "My personal assistant Laura Matthers whose beauty, I assure you, is only surpassed by her industry."

Hammer didn't even bother pretending like he had any interest in greeting Clint and pushed past him to get closer to Matthers his lop-sided smirk transparently conveying his inner thoughts. "I can certainly see why you keep her around, Bill. I'll bet she's most able to 'assist' you in all of your 'personal' needs." He somehow managed to insert air quotes purely through his tone of voice.

Even Cross seemed a bit put-out by his lack of subtlety.

To her credit the Black Widow didn't let her smile falter. She flipped her hair and acted as though she thought Hammer had said something genuinely witty. "Well, when you have a boss as efficient and easy to deal with as Mr. Cross everything really just takes care of itself."

Hammer waggled his eyebrows, unable to tear his gaze away from Cross' PA. "Oh, I'll bet it does." His leer had become so wide that he was making Clint's own previous attempts at conveying ill-concealed lust seem like the subtlest of hints in comparison. Man, this guy was a douche. Clint was just trying to decide whether his cover persona would be more likely to laugh or scowl at Hammer when Cross stepped in and grabbed his wayward guest by the elbow.

"Yes, well come with me Justin I have a few things to discuss with you about that project we were talking about earlier."

"Wha-?" mumbled Hammer, finally tearing his eyes away from Matthers and reluctantly allowing himself to be steered away. "Oh, yeah right, that Star-…star attraction of your development," he ended lamely.

Cross pursed his lips, sparing a quick glance for Matthers and Benton before walking away, "Yes, of course, our 'star attraction'. Matthers, Benton," he nodded to each of them as he walked away, Hammer in tow.

Damn, he'd heard Justin Hammer was pretty stupid, but that took the cake. So they both had an interest in Stark's technology, whatever it was, did they? He had also noticed that the Widow's shoulders had tightened almost imperceptibly at Hammer's near-slip. So…at least now he knew what her specific interest was in Cross Industries. It looked like they had more in common than he had initially thought. Strange how things were dove-tailing so neatly, almost like fate was stepping in to hand him both assignments on a silver platter. Well, except for the fact that the Widow could put him down at close-quarters without even breaking a sweat and he still had no idea what the project specs entailed or why the Red Room apparently wanted the Widow overlooking it. That last part especially made him nervous.

Clint turned back to Matthers and grimaced, "Well, uh, quite a fellow that Justin Hammer, isn't he? You handled that well."

She shrugged, "Part of the job I'm afraid. Sometimes men in this industry have a skewed view of what they can expect from a woman in the office."

Clint nodded and made sympathetic noises, aware of what a douche bag he was making himself look like as a result. He noticed that she kept glancing towards the place where Hammer and Cross were now involved in an animated discussion, far from any hangers-on.

"But before we were interrupted you had something to say?"

She smiled, placing her hand on his arm for a moment and letting it linger before she said, "Sorry, but I think Mr. Cross needs me. He's not always up on the details with so many projects on the go these days. A PA's job is never done." Her smile deepened, "I hope we can continue our conversation later, though."

"Oh, I look forward to it," replied Clint, glancing down at her hand before shifting his gaze to Cross and Hammer as she walked away. He wondered what move she would pull to get in close to the conversation without looking like she was intruding. He didn't think she'd have a problem.

Clint sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Maybe he would get that second drink after all.

* * *

><p>The following days were something of a blur for Clint. He had been granted a short meeting with William Cross himself, hoping he could glean something of interest about his pet project from it, but it had amounted to nothing more than a fifteen minute extended monologue by Cross on the importance of security in the world of IT . As far as the man himself went Clint had left the meeting unimpressed. Cross struck him as little more than a weaselly wash-out as a spook who had fallen into his family's business as a fallback plan and took himself way too seriously. At least the guy was only half as annoying as that jackass wunderkind Tony Stark. He didn't have enough money yet to be anything other than a pale imitation.<p>

With the top echelon of the company proving a dead end at this point he got busy double checking all of the personnel files to which he had access and digging deeper into any new projects at R & D under cover of verifying the efficiency of his new procedures in the hopes that some red flag would pop up regarding the 'star attraction' project he had been set loose on. He was also trying to get a line on Laura Matthers' schedule and her real reason for being there. Why the hell would the Red Room send their top agent, specializing in seduction and assassination, to keep an eye on a company owned by what all of SHIELD's intel said was a staunch ally? Had things changed? Was there something about the stolen Stark tech that the Red Room felt required a more hands on approach? Or was the Widow playing some game of her own? So far nothing conclusive, or even interesting, had panned out on either front. Strange how the head of security wasn't able to find any records of a project that was apparently so high profile for the owner and that was even cause for a new partnership with another firm, but that just made him more nervous about what he'd find out about it once it was uncovered. He was hoping that keeping very close eyes on the Widow would ultimately to lead him to the answers he needed. Luckily she had just made that a hell of a lot easier for him to do. Of course that in itself was a worrisome fact.

What had made Romanoff go from ice cold to warm and friendly in such short order? Clint played through the last few days in his mind. The only thing he could think of was the meeting with Coulson. Had she been following him then? Even if she had surely they hadn't given anything away, they had done everything by the book. Shit. Well, if she was going to go full Black Widow on him already then it either meant she was bored or she had seen through his cover. The best he could hope for was that she wasn't absolutely sure yet, or that even if she was that it wasn't in the best interests of her mission parameters to try and kill the new head of security…yet. Either way it wasn't an enviable situation to be in and it meant moving up his timetable considerably.

Clint sighed, running his hand over his face and through his hair in a gesture of pure annoyance. He really should have maintained his usual distance on this op. Why the hell had he let himself come in close where he was vulnerable and would be allowing the Widow play up to her strongest skill set? He thought back to the things he had seen in the months before this mission even became a possibility. He also thought about what he had seen in the weeks immediately leading up to it. Something was off with her. Something wasn't clear in the picture. He didn't like lack of clarity and he knew the key was Romanoff. He wanted some answers before he ended the story.

He was just shutting down his computer and trying to decide what take-out to bring with him on his stake-out of the Widow's apartment when a voice at the doorway startled him.

"Mr. Benton, do you have a minute?"

He looked up quickly only to see the object of his most recent obsession standing on the threshold of his office. Her head was tilted against an arm that was suggestively raised above her along the doorframe. She had been utterly silent in her approach. He'd have to remember that.

Clint made a point of letting his gaze follow the curves of her body, appreciatively taking in her provocatively low cut blouse and tight pencil skirt. He didn't have too much trouble getting into character. Damn, was she really only twenty one years old? She certainly managed to carry herself with a confidence and allure that belied her youth. He was going to have to watch himself.

"Alvin," he said reprovingly, a look of mock disapproval in his eyes, "I thought we had agreed on that, Laura."

The smile the Widow allowed to creep across her lips made something tighten in Clint's gut…and a little lower down. He _really _was going to have to watch himself. "Sorry…Alvin." She looked behind her into the hallway outside his office before turning back to him. "I just didn't want to appear inappropriate in the office. You know how people can talk."

"Indeed I do," he replied, "but let's not let small minds hamper a good thing. Please," he said motioning her to one of his office chairs, "have a seat."

"Thanks," she replied, smiling enticingly as she lowered herself to the offered chair.

"To what do I owe this exquisite pleasure," he asked almost letting himself wink as he sat on the edge of his desk. Damn, he was laying it on thick, but with a mark like the Black Widow, it was either go all in or play it shy otherwise she might suspect something was up, and Clint _never_ played it shy.

She raised her head again and looked him in the eye. He would have said that something smouldered there if her look had left him with coherent words. "We never did finish our conversation at the reception."

"Well now that's true, isn't it? I believe the ball was in your court."

"Oh is it?" she asked with a grin, "well then I might as well cut to the chase. What do you say we get a drink tonight?"

"I have been known to partake," he mused, "but what would HR say if they found out? I haven't even gotten past my probationary period in the new job yet. I doubt they'd be too happy if I start breaking workplace fraternization rules already, and with the boss' PA no less."

"Alvin," she said reprovingly, "am I really supposed to believe that that will be an issue for you?" She had a way of arching her brow in the most provocative way.

"No," he replied with an easy smile, "no I guess you're not, really."

"Good. Then you can pick me up at 8." The sway in her hips as she left was nothing short of exhilarating as she flashed him a small smile over her shoulder.

He waited until she had turned the corner in the hallway beyond before he let the smile on his own face fall away. So that was it, was it? The Black Widow was coming out to play. The heat was on and Clint had better step up his game before he found himself enmeshed in a web from which he couldn't extricate himself. Eventually he let out a heavy breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Well if that was the case then perhaps it was high time for Hawkeye to come off the leash.


	3. Chapter 3

Clint could see directly into her apartment from the building across the alley. He had scouted out several possible vantage points in a complete circuit of her building, but this one had been the best: direct line of sight through three of the four windows into her apartment, comprising two separate rooms; at least three direct escape routes and two more indirect ones; sufficient cover that even directly across from her apartment he wasn't going to be obvious. There was even a secure place to cache his equipment without danger of it being found so he didn't have to lug things back and forth between his periods undercover and those when he was able to keep a more surreptitious eye on her and further add to his chances of discovery. Even with all of these advantages his surveillance to this point had been more or less useless. She avoided windows like the plague and hadn't even given him the opportunity to make a difficult shot, let alone a clean one, at any point since his surveillance had started. He didn't know whether Romanoff was anticipating a hit, or if her tradecraft was just that good, but thus far she had avoided slipping in any way that would have made his job easier. But then that was why they had sent him. He was the man who could make the impossible shot. All he needed was an eyeball and a target.

Sitting back on his haunches while he waited, Clint ran through the events of the evening in his mind. The 'date' had been fine. Hell, if this hadn't been a mission, if she hadn't been his mark, if he didn't know exactly who and what she was and that she'd be as likely to snap his neck as sleep with him (frankly she'd be likely to do both at the same time) he would have said it was damn near perfect. Their farewell at her doorstep had been nothing short of electric and he almost raised his fingers to his lips where he could still feel the burn of her kiss. He was beginning to get a whole new perspective on the Black Widow and her targets were starting to look a lot more like sympathetic victims than merely the lust-addled dupes he had previously taken them for. He shook his head ruefully. "Get a grip, Barton. It wouldn't be the first time a pretty face made a fool of you, but you don't need to end up in a body bag if you can help it."

When a shadow passed in front of one of her windows Clint immediately came to attention. He gripped his bow more tightly and eyed the window through his scope. It was Romanoff of course. She was moving from the bedroom to the main living area and running one hand through her long hair. Apparently she had just gotten out of the shower since she only had a towel wrapped around her shapely frame and her hair was still glistening with moisture. She wasn't in front of the window for more than a few seconds before disappearing behind the wall that fronted on her kitchen. Her kitchen window was the one on the other side of the building that he couldn't see, but he simply sat back again, waiting. Clint was used to waiting.

The Widow emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later a drink in one hand and her cell phone in the other. She seemed to be looking at something on her phone's display as she took a slow sip from her drink. She had stopped directly in front of the window. The angle was perfect. The chances of him ever getting a cleaner shot than this were nearly nonexistent. What was she doing just standing in front of the window? Was she finally certain that there was no danger? That wasn't like the Widow at all. In all the files he had read about her exploits, in everything he'd seen with his own eyes, in everything he had picked up from hearsay and rumour the Black Widow did not ever let down her guard, she never lost her edge, she never provided an easy target. Of course if Clint had noticed anything, if his gut was leading him in any direction, it was that something had markedly changed in the Widow's _modus operandi_ on this mission. She wasn't the same agent she had been only a few months ago and he was starting to get a strong inkling of just what was going on.

The shot though. The shot was perfect. He had never had such a perfect chance. All he had to do was loosen his fingers on the taut bowstring and that would be the end of it. The end of a seemingly endless chain of death and destruction. The final scene in the horror show that had been the life of the Black Widow. The termination of the Red Room's greatest work of art…and the making of Hawkeye's career.

Clint lowered his bow and let out the long breath he had been holding. He un-nocked the arrow and placed it in his quiver, his movements almost mechanical. He sat back on the roof of the building and lowered his hands between his knees. This wasn't what he did. He could follow orders and he could kill when he had to. He was no neophyte unaware of the realities of the world they lived in, he wasn't a fool to mistake a jumble of lust, confusion, and desire for anything other than what it was, but this was still all wrong. There was something going on here that went deeper than case files and known behaviours. His gut told him that there were answers he needed before he made any irrevocable decisions. There was a mystery to the actions of the Black Widow and he was going to get to the bottom of it before he put an arrow through her throat. He thought he recognized something in her eyes, a haunting shadow that he knew only too well. She might be the greatest actress in the world, but that was a look that didn't lie.

Suddenly Clint's 'work' cell phone from Cross Technologies vibrated and he looked at it quizzically, wondering who could be calling him now. He smiled despite himself when he saw the number on the display.

* * *

><p>Things had gone well at the bar. She had been pleased to note that he had chosen one of LAs 'up and coming' spots that was still new enough that they had side-stepped the need to possibly wait in line or even not gain entry, but that was popular enough that he had shown himself a man of means with his finger on the pulse of the LA scene. The effort he had expended in his choice was a detail she had appreciated. The place itself had been sufficiently crowded and noisy to make true intimacy a non-existent factor, but there had still been enough lulls in the background noise to allow them to go through the motions of their 'conversation'. The get-to-know-you chit-chat was almost interesting in its way. She had to admit that Benton had a certain rough charisma and he had somehow managed to be more charming than annoying despite what previous experience would have led her to expect. Despite this it had been obvious that he was acting a part as much as she was. He was good enough though that it hadn't been apparent whether the act revolved around him gathering intel on her, or simply reflected the desire of a man to play a role he thought would get her into bed. Ultimately, after several more drinks and some meaningful glances, Natasha had cut to the chase and decided to invite Benton to take her home.<p>

She was certain of what she was going to do right up until the point that she stopped in front of her apartment door. Suddenly a strange pang of doubt, something she had never experienced in these situations, arose in her gut. For some reason she no longer wanted to invite him in, either to force his hand and deal with any unpleasant revelations, or to further ensnare him in her web and milk him for any intel that might prove useful. She had no idea what had precipitated the sudden change in attitude and that in itself bothered her more than the actual feeling itself. Luckily Laura Matthers was a role with enough leeway for her to play her cards as the situation, or her feelings, demanded. She decided that as far as Benton went it was ultimately in her best interests to keep him off balance.

She turned around, looking up into his face as she leaned against her door. "So, here we are," she said simply.

"Here we are," agreed Benton, placing his hand on the doorjamb near her head and leaning in a little more closely, though not so close as to cause discomfort. A nearly electric tension filled the space between them, though neither made any immediate move to resolve it.

Suddenly Natasha leaned forward, her hand grabbing his collar and pulling him in close, while her lips sought out his in a kiss filled with hunger and the tacit promise of something more. Just as quickly she disengaged and pulled back slightly, looking at him with a mix of shy surprise and slight embarrassment behind her hooded eyes. The new pause that hung in the air between them was just starting to become uncomfortable when she looked away from his face and sighed, her hand disengaging from his shirt and slowly travelling down his chest.

"Oh! I…I'm sorry I didn't mean to…" Looking back at his face she gave him a lop-sided smile. "I really had a nice time tonight Alvin, but I think, all things considered, that we ought to say good night."

The surprise that flashed across his eyes was accompanied by something else that she couldn't quite place. Was it disappointment as she at first expected, or relief? She couldn't say for sure.

"Are you…sure?" he managed after waiting a beat, calculation apparent in the pause.

She smiled demurely as she looked down at the carpet, fishing her keys from her purse. "Yes, sorry. I…I just think we ought to make sure we don't rush into anything." She allowed her embarrassment and shy nerves to take full control of her features as she looked up at his face and shrugged. "We have plenty of time after all. I really did have a wonderful evening, though, and I do hope we'll be able to do it again." She turned to unlock her door, stepped in slightly and then waited on the threshold as she looked back at him before adding, "Soon."

For a moment as she held the door slightly ajar Natasha wasn't sure what Benton was going to do. Was he going to throw a fit and threaten her, demand what he was 'owed'? Would he shrug and walk away, disdain for the pretty little tease apparent on his face? Would he smile his smarmy smile and drop some more innuendo?

She wasn't surprised when he leaned in, conceivably for another kiss, though she was a little startled when she found herself moving closer towards him in response. Suddenly he stopped, his lips just short of hers before he whispered, "Well then, there's always that to look forward to." He waited for only a second and then that shit eating grin was plastered on his face again and he turned around and walked back to the elevator.

Natasha's smile disappeared as she closed and locked the door, her features all business once again and all trace of Laura's demure shyness gone. Leaning back she closed her eyes and ran through the events of the op as she always did at the close of any mission, evaluating what had occurred.

She was certain she hadn't been mistaken in thinking that that the meeting she had witnessed in the diner had been a connection between an agent and his handler, so there really wasn't any doubt in her mind about who, or at least what, Benton was. She was still uncertain, though, about what his mission parameters might be. There were plenty of reasons for an agent, freelance or otherwise, to be snooping into what Cross was working on, especially given the Stark angle. He definitely wasn't Red Room and while it now seemed unlikely to her that he was in any way centring on her as the object of his mission she couldn't discount it. His interest in her might be nothing more than desire for a quick lay while he was on a mission - no one said there couldn't be fringe benefits to undercover ops after all - and she certainly provided an enticing target in that regard. Add to that the fact that she was posing as Cross' PA and might therefore have access to intel he needed on other fronts and it almost seemed likely that he would have made a move on her for no other reason than to make his real job that much easier. Still, something about him was off. He had a laser focus on her whenever they were in the same room that went beyond the way he interacted with others. She could flatter herself that it was merely physical attraction, but that kind of assumption got you killed in the field. She hadn't become the most successful assassin in the history of the Red Room, a history full of spectacularly bloody acts and daring manoeuvres, by allowing herself to ever make assumptions.

That left two options: kill Benton now and make sure the blame landed elsewhere or dig deeper into who and what he was in order to better arm herself against him if need be. The former option removed an unknown quantity from her concerns and had the appealing, though admittedly unlikely, benefit of creating a further distraction in the hive of Cross Technologies that might lead to some openings hitherto blocked to her. The latter would allow her to get much closer to him without making waves that frankly would be more likely to backfire and cause Cross to go overboard with his already rampant paranoia. Either way she thought she had baited the hook nicely and all that was left was maintaining that interest and reeling him in.

She could have gone ahead and done that tonight. She could tell that he had been expecting to be invited in when they were at her door. She had even toyed with the possibility of doing just that. But, she had decided upon reflection, that would have been for purely selfish reasons not germane to the task at hand. He was after all an attractive man. She had instead decided to play the interested co-worker worried about propriety. By now he had to be wondering why she was running so hot and cold and while that might make him wary she knew ways to mitigate that circumstance.

Natasha sighed. She didn't think Benton had been too bent out of shape by her sudden turn- around at the door, though that in itself rankled her a bit, and ultimately she thought that it was perhaps the more logical response. Laura Matthers was first and foremost a professional however much she might be willing to let her looks tease what she wanted from the men in her life, and a one night stand with a new co-worker after the first date was not something she'd do unless the benefits far outweighed the possible disadvantages.

She took a shower while she considered her options, luxuriating under the warm water as the tension of the day was washed away. Wrapping a towel around herself she sauntered to the kitchen to prepare herself a drink, picking up her phone as she returned to the living room. Lost in thought she stopped before the window, her eyes looking at the number she had almost unthinkingly brought up on her display. She smiled to herself for a moment, before hitting dial.

"Hello?" came Benton's voice after a few rings, hesitation apparent in his tone.

"Alvin, it's Laura," she replied coolly, "I know we just saw each other, but I just wanted to make sure I told you how much I enjoyed our evening. I really do hope that we're able to do it again."


	4. Chapter 4

Clint felt like he was walking a knife-edge every day he went in to his office.

Things with 'Laura' had progressed steadily after her initial rebuff at her apartment. They still acted as though they were only coworkers when at the office, lingering glances notwithstanding, but they had spent a large portion of their after work hours together. Things had progressed naturally, but at a fairly sedate pace. In some ways it was ideal, it gave Clint the perfect opportunity to observe the Widow in the closest imaginable proximity, but it also bothered him. For one thing undercover had never been his forte and now he had to be "on" all the time; for another things were starting to get muddled and he no longer knew who was playing whom, or even exactly what game it was they were playing.

He was also concerned that he seemed to be spending the majority of his time with her trying to suss out what her real motivations were, to get a glimpse at the person underneath the persona, instead of just doing his damn job and squeezing her for all the intel on Cross he could before ending this part of his assignment permanently. So far all he'd discovered were mundane facts about the life and times of "Laura Matthers" with a bit of work gossip thrown in, alas nothing useful. From time to time he still thought he glimpsed the Widow behind the façade and, underneath even that, the haunted shadow that had set the wheels turning in his head in the first place. He was getting frustrated and he was worried that might be making him sloppy.

The Cross question was also bothering him. He had managed to dig up some leads based on personnel reassignments and power usage that didn't track to any on-the-books project, but so far he couldn't push it further without bringing up questions he didn't want asked. Hammer industries was definitely involved and he imagined that the resources obviously required that weren't traceable even in absences from the documentation he had access to were coming from there. There were a whole lot of blanks and not a lot of answers, but he was going to get to the bottom of this if it killed him.

He was just looking into some discrepancies in warehouse and lab locations when a knock on his door brought his head up. He clicked the screen saver immediately even though his screen wasn't visible from the door. He couldn't help the very real smile that immediately came to his face and castigated himself internally at the same time that he realized it was perfect for his cover. Laura Matthers had once again managed to come to the very threshold of his office without his having even realized someone was there. Shit, that was unnerving.

Standing up and moving around to the front of his desk to meet her, Clint put his hands in his pockets and leaned back.

"Laura, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

The smile on the Widow's face seemed as genuine as his own and he was once again amazed at what an excellent actor she was. No wonder men melted in the palm of her hand with merely a glance.

She waved a file in front of him before throwing it on his desk and closing his office door slightly.

"Just dropping off something you asked for from personnel. I ran into Lydia on her way and said I had to see you for Mr. Cross anyway."

"Oh?"

"I'm afraid it was a little bit of a white lie," she purred as she draped her arms over his shoulders. "But it did give me a good excuse for this." Leaning in she gave him a lingering kiss before pulling back.

"I can't say I disapprove," he said with a smirk as he pulled his hands from his pockets and let them rest lightly on her hips.

"Hmmm, I didn't think you would. So, does the head of security have plans tonight?"

"Oh nothing that can't be moved around for the right reasons I suppose."

"Good," she said letting her fingers scratch enticingly at the short hairs on the back of his neck before straightening his collar and taking a half step back. "I want you to come over tonight."

"Dinner?"

"And other things," she replied with a knowing smile as she turned to leave the office.

"What should I bring?"

"Hmmm…just your appetite."

* * *

><p>As she left Benton's office Natasha's saucy smirk left her face and she nodded to herself. Her decision to keep her eye on Benton had definitely been the right one. She had played things relatively easily up to this point, but now was the time to step up her game. That file had contained records for several of the people she had been watching herself. They had no inherent connection aside from the fact that they all worked at Cross and the only reason any of those records would be in the same file was if he was investigating the same project she was looking into.<p>

Benton was getting close. Too close. It was time to find out everything he knew and it just so happened that she had a foolproof method of interrogation.

It was too bad really, beneath the crass exterior there seemed to be some real steel. In a perfect world it would have been interesting to see where things might have led naturally, though of course for the Black Widow there was really only one 'natural' end to a relationship with a man. Benton might well have been an interesting man to know - in a way that didn't have to lead to that kind of end - but then this wasn't a perfect world.

She stopped momentarily as she realized that this would be yet one more red mark in her ledger. Shaking her head, she sighed and shrugged her shoulders. The fact of the matter was that he was standing in the way of her long-term goal, a goal that would be the first step towards the dismantling of the Red Room and all it stood for. In light of that one more small drop of red was a trivial enough price to pay. There would be more than enough black with which to efface it in the end.

* * *

><p>As soon as she left his office Clint slumped back against his desk and ran his fingers through his hair. So, now was the time. There was no getting around this moment. He had been biding his time and playing the long game hoping for an opportunity more conducive to his wishes to present itself, but the Black Widow had just invited him into her lair in terms that could not be misconstrued. If he hadn't already been aware of who and what she was he would be walking into the deadliest trap imaginable. As it was he was still only giving himself a 50-50 chance…he wasn't going to be sniping anyone from a distance.<p>

Tonight was going to be the decision point and Clint didn't plan on dying. The only clear option he had was to fulfill his primary mission. Get in, somehow play his cover to its maximum benefit, and ensure the danger of the Black Widow was neutralized. The clearest path to this end – the only sane one - was her death. Despite this he still couldn't shake the misgivings that were clamouring in the back of his mind. He was finding it harder and harder to fight his gut when it told him his orders were wrong. Could he manage to find some other way of dealing with her, an option where more than one life could be salvaged from the wreckage?

Returning to his desk he considered calling Coulson to update him on the situation. Maybe they could get a strike team in place around her apartment. That would give him the greatest odds of surviving come what may. He shook his head. Too many people, too many variables, too many options for someone to decide to go cowboy with the Black Widow in their sights. Clint never liked playing with a safety net anyway, and if he got Coulson involved now, then he would have no choice but to play it by the book - and for whatever reason, he was still not happy with chapter and verse according to the Book of Fury.

So, it appeared he'd made his decision then. Maybe it was going to kill him. Somehow this fact didn't concern him the way it should have. He could only think back to a night not so many years ago, though it felt like a lifetime - maybe in some ways it was.

Moments came back to him in vivid flashes between blackness: a plan that was slipshod at best made by kids who didn't know any better; a dose or three of liquid courage to steel the nerves; a partner too scared to think clearly and too angry to care; a man on the premises who by all rights shouldn't have been there; a shot ringing out that was returned by an arrow streaking through the night as panic and fear took over; a dead body and an injured boy lying in his own blood.

It had been one night of tragedy and regret that could have destroyed all the lives it touched, but against all expectations had instead been transformed by the mercy of a stranger. Clint thought about Phil Coulson and the choice he had made for the millionth time. He wouldn't like what Clint was thinking of doing, but he sure as hell couldn't say he didn't understand it. Maybe karma was a bitch, but there was the slimmest of chances that instead of payback he could pay it forward. He hoped it would be worth it.

* * *

><p>Natasha smiled as she opened the door and saw the bouquet that Benton held out to her.<p>

"I know you said just bring my appetite, but I figured the beautiful hostess deserved something more than insatiable hunger for her troubles."

She raised an eyebrow as she levelled her gaze at him.

"Insatiable hunger I can work with, I've been told that I'm quite the cook."

With that she took the proffered gift and moved towards the kitchen, letting him follow her into the penthouse apartment. As she put the flowers in a vase Clint walked around the living room, taking in the space. He'd seen it before, but now he was looking at it with new eyes and with a specific purpose.

There were several options for both attack and defense depending on how things went, though escape routes were limited given the building's height and his lack of equipment. Letting his gaze move to the window he saw his accustomed perch across a wide gap of space and considered lost opportunities before looking back towards the kitchen.

The Widow was just emerging, a smile on her face as she handed him a drink.

"Bourbon, rocks, right?"

"You know me too well," he replied with a smile. Swirling his glass to allow the bouquet to reach his nose he noticed that she didn't have one. "Not partaking?"

"Oh I still have dinner to get ready and I'm saving myself for the exceptional bottle of wine I've picked out for us."

"Exceptional is it?" he said with a grin. "Have I wandered into a special occasion?"

She shrugged.

"Let's just say it's a moment that's been a long time coming."

Leaving him with a mysterious smile she returned to the kitchen.

"Need any help?" he called after her, placing his untasted drink on the side table next to the couch.

"Oh no, I can handle myself," she replied with a backward glance and a smile.

Clint nodded to himself. That was certainly an understatement. So, here he was; in the lair of the beast with only his wits, training, and a small concealed firearm for defense against one of the deadliest assassins in the world. Peachy.

Sometimes he wondered how he managed to get himself into these situations. He was sure that Coulson would have a choice word or two in that regard - probably something about lack of forethought and brash recklessness. Clint shrugged, no point in griping over a decision made, you simply had to play the game and react to the circumstances. Easy, right?

She was standing at the counter chopping something when he walked into the kitchen. Coming up behind her he let his hands slide down from her shoulders along her arms. She stopped her chopping and his eyes were fixed on the knife even as his lips descended to her neck , brushing it with the lightest of kisses.

"Mmmm," she hummed as she closed her eyes. He noticed that her grip had tightened on the knife handle. "That feels nice."

"You look beautiful," he said and he realized that he meant it. She had been stunning when she answered the door, her scarlet hair loosely bundled on top of her head, stray ringlets curling around her perfect features. A loose-fitting emerald blouse, both revealing and concealing in such an artful way that any man not primed to be wary for his life would have immediately melted under her gaze. She leaned back into him resting her head against his shoulder.

"Hmmm, you can continue."

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything earlier, but I'm afraid I lost my words."

"Poor boy," she said dropping the knife and turning in his embrace. Her eyes locked with his as one of her hands reached up to caress his cheek.

"Can't wait for dinner?" she asked, leaning in until their noses touched, their breath mingling, lips hovering on the edge of a kiss.

"Insatiable appetite," he replied before claiming her lips with his own in a deep and powerful kiss. The kiss lingered and deepened further as his hands travelled down her arms and across her waist before coming to rest on her ass. Cupping her cheeks, he pulled her forward forcefully and she gave out a slight yelp, their kiss broken by her playful smile.

His growing arousal had to be obvious by this point and he could feel an answering heat in her center. It appeared that she was starting to want this too.

"Naughty boy, wants dessert already does he?" she asked in a husky purr.

"I want everything," he replied.

She answered with another kiss, as deep as the first, her arms twining around his neck as his continued to caress her ass. Then one of his hands moved up, lightly brushing her stomach before moving further to stroke her breast. He noted that she wasn't wearing a bra as he felt her nipple tighten underneath the thin fabric of her shirt.

"We should take this elsewhere," she whispered breathlessly as she broke the kiss. They were both breathing heavily.

"What about dinner?" he asked with a sardonic rise of his brow.

"Oh, I think we have more important matters to deal with first."

She grabbed him by the belt and pulled him after her as she left the kitchen.

Clint wasn't quite sure what was happening. Had he really started this? Was this part of the plan? What the fuck was his plan again? He was playing right into her game. He had to get a grip on himself before things got totally out of control. Why was he so clouded?

He looked at the supple form of the Widow as she towed him in her wake. Right, stupid question. _Ok Barton, deep breaths,_ he told himself.

Making his decision Clint stopped suddenly, halting the Widow in her progress towards the bedroom.

She looked back, surprise on her face.

"Alvin? What's wrong?" The ghost of a sardonic smile curled languidly on the side of her mouth making something in his gut curl and twist in response until it was a tight knot. "Don't tell me you'd prefer the couch?"

Clint took a steadying breath and stepped forward. Gripping her shoulders tightly he pushed her until her back came against the wall with a thump. Nothing in her face showed concern, her eyes merely narrowed slightly and her smile gained a harder edge.

"Well Alvin," she nearly purred, "I didn't know you liked to play it rough." She let her glance move across his body, "But luckily for you I'm a girl with an open mind."

Clint narrowed his eyes.

"Cut the bullshit Romanoff," he grated out harshly, his every nerve ready as he saw her tense at the name.

"What are you…" she started, but he merely shook his head.

"I think we're way past that now, don't you? It's time we laid our cards on the table."

Calculation passed behind her eyes as she concentrated on his face and then visibly relaxed. He could still feel the tense readiness in her, but to all outward appearances she was as calm as if he had asked her what her favourite colour was.

"Alright then _Mr. Benton,"_ she said easily, "it appears that you have me at a distinct disadvantage."

"Barton," he said tersely.

"What?" she asked, confusion and calculation again passing behind her eyes.

"Clint Barton. Of SHIELD."

God, was this really his plan? Lay everything on the table and hope the Black Widow didn't feel like killing him immediately? Shit. Maybe Coulson was right about him. One thing was certain, Fury was going to have kittens if Clint managed to survive this.

"Barton," she said to herself as she looked away, thinking. Then she looked up at him, a question in her eyes. "They call you Hawkeye."

He had to give the Red Room credit, their intel was good. He shrugged.

"Sometimes."

"But," she said slowly, confusion again flashing across her features, "you're a _sniper_."

She said the word like it was a curse.

"What the hell are you doing up close? I thought your kind preferred the clean kill. The easy one." Disdain was now apparent on her features. "You must have had a dozen chances to neutralize me now that you've finally caught up."

Another question seemed to hang on her lips, though it remained unasked.

He knew exactly what she meant.

"It's been a long chase. You're more resourceful than anyone we've ever tried to track, no doubt about it. Nothing to go on but a target and a bloody mess while we tried to figure out your next move." He stopped, looking into her eyes. "Until three months ago."

He waited a beat until he saw realization dawn on her face.

"Drakov's…" she stopped herself, her lips tightening as her jaw clenched.

Clint nodded. "I was only six hours behind you there. God, what a fucking mess."

She flinched at that. It was almost imperceptible, but he was too close not to notice. Something in him relaxed just a fraction at the fact.

"Things changed after that. Your tactics are different. You've been running. Running hard. I'd almost say running scared if I thought it was possible."

She didn't say anything, just looked at him with defiance and something that almost looked like resignation.

"So I came in close."

He looked closely at her, watching her eyes. Surprisingly she looked away first.

"So, I was worth coming in to make the close kill, was I? I was enough of a monster to warrant you getting your hands dirty." She shook her head slightly, a faraway look in her eyes. "I'm flattered. Maybe you'll even learn to enjoy it."

"That's not it," he said something hardening in him even as his eyes softened. "I don't believe you're working for the Red Room anymore. I think you're trying to find a way," he stopped, searching for words as he continued looking into her eyes, "a way to make things right."

She didn't say anything at that, just glared at him. If looks could kill as effectively as her thighs and hands, Clint Barton would have been stone dead.

"I think you're working to dismantle the infrastructure that supports the Red Room. I think you want to break them into a million pieces. That sounds like something worth doing to me. So I want to give you a choice. I want to bring you in. I want you to come over to SHIELD."

The confusion on her face increased. He could tell she was uncomfortable with the fact. Apparently he had had her flat-footed during the entire conversation and she didn't like the sensation. She needed control, even if the destination was her own termination.

"Don't be ridiculous!" she spat. "'Bring me in'? I'm sure it would be quite a feather in your cap, Hawkeye, but whatever I am, whatever you might think I deserve, I'm not going in meekly like a lamb to the slaughter to let your de-programmers open my mind and play!"

She took a deep breath, vulnerability momentarily crossing her features. "I've had enough of that. I end this on **_my_** terms."

He shook his head. "Romanoff…Natalia, this doesn't have to be the way it plays out. You can't keep this up and I don't want to kill you. I know you've gone rogue. I know that you've renounced the Red Room. I know you've had enough."

"You _know?!"_ she spat. "What do you know _sniper? _What do you know about anything?!"

She was so tense he thought she might come apart in his hands, but suddenly she stopped, the fire gleaming in her eyes dwindled to nearly nothing and this time she truly did relax into his arms.

"You have the kill order Hawkeye. Do it. Up close, far away, I just don't care. Do you hear me?" she said looking into his eyes again. "I don't care."

"Yeah, I got the kill order," he said, "and my head is on the line, but you know what? I'm going to make my own call on this one."

"Why the hell would you do that?" she sighed.

"Because I have to. Because everyone deserves to have a second chance."

She just stared at him like she couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. She probably couldn't - he wasn't sure if _he_ could and he was the one saying them.

"You expect me to believe that SHIELD will spare my life on your say-so? That Nicholas Fury and the 'protectors' of the western world will let the Black Widow live?!" Her lips curled into an ugly snarl. "The best I could hope for would be torture and a prison cell buried so far under the earth no one would ever find me again. I'll take death instead, thank you very much."

"No," he said tersely, "no torture. I can't say what they'll do about prison, but…but isn't it worth risking? You're a very valuable asset, Natalia. You would be worth more to SHIELD as a cooperating asset than as a piece of meat rotting in a cell somewhere."

"So I trade one set of amoral masters for another? I've been a plaything for politicians with an agenda for long enough."

"So instead _you_ decide who lives and dies and to hell with the consequences?"

"My ledger is filled with red, I know the score, I know how to make it black. Trust me, I'm in a better position than anyone to know who deserves death."

Clint closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply. "Please," he almost whispered before opening his eyes again and looking into hers, "trust me."

He could see the conflict, the uncertainty, playing across her features. "Why?" she whispered back. "Why would you even care?"

"Because I can feel what you're going through. Because once I wasn't so different from you. Because sometimes the only thing that can save someone is the trust of a stranger."

With that he let go of her arms and took a step back. "Because I want to make my own call, my 'masters' be damned."

The Black Widow looked at him blankly. She didn't seem able to process what he was saying, what he was doing. She looked down and took a small step forward, her hand coming up towards his cheek. Somehow Clint managed not to flinch and stood his ground. Her fingers ghosted across his cheek, something like wonder on her face.

"Thank you," she said, before her other hand shot out and flew towards his neck. Everything went black.


	5. Chapter 5

"Barton. Barton? Clint!"

Slowly the fog started to dissipate and a sliver of light made its way into Clint's consciousness. He opened his eyes and then immediately shut them with a grimace. "Shit!"

"Well, at least you're still alive. Mind telling me what the hell happened here and why we weren't already providing backup?"

Clint risked slitting his eyes open again, the tone of Coulson's voice let him know that he wasn't going to be able to sweet talk his way out of this one. Even the limited light he was letting in was making the ache in his head throb like he'd just woken up after an epic bender. He tried to turn his head and almost fainted from the lightning arc of pain that travelled up his neck as a result. "Aw shit, what happened?"

"And here I was hoping you'd be the one giving me the answers," said Coulson wryly.

"From what I can see," he added, sweeping the room with a glance before returning his even stare to Clint's face, "you walked alone and without backup - directly in contravention to SHIELD protocol I might add - into the Black Widow's den and proceeded to allow her to incapacitate you without even putting up a token struggle. Well done."

"Well at least she didn't kill me," Clint mumbled somehow managing to pull himself up to a seated position and rubbing the back of his head for all the good it did him. It still felt like someone was banging on his skull with a jackhammer. He could now see the other agents moving around the apartment in his peripheral vision. He sighed as he realized what a jackass he must look like to them.

"Yeah," said Coulson looking a little more closely at Clint, "I was starting to wonder about that. You may be the only known person to have survived a meeting like this with the Black Widow. Certainly the first male. I was frankly expecting to come in here and have to pull you out in a body bag. Care to explain how that happened?"

Clint sat back, leaning against the couch, and looked Coulson in the eyes. "Damned if I know."

Coulson returned Clint's look stare for stare then sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Clint, you know I trust you. I want to believe that this wasn't the clusterfuck it looks like, but I'm going to need a bit more than that to go on here. What are we dealing with? It took us months to even be able to track the Black Widow down, if she just disappears into thin air again after we came so close then it's not just going to be your head on the line."

"I know Phil, I just," he sighed, "I tried to recruit her. I tried to bring her in."

Clint was rewarded with something he had never seen before. Phil Coulson was speechless. After several beats Coulson seemed to regain something approaching his regular composure, though he was still shaking his head as though trying to rid himself of a particularly bad dream.

"You…tried to recruit…the deadliest assassin SHIELD has ever come across? After a months' long search costing millions of taxpayer dollars and untold manpower hours that finally resulted in tracking down the most elusive enemy agent on record you exposed yourself and possibly facilitated her escape despite being ordered to neutralize the target at all costs? Am I…am I hearing that right?"

"Yeah," Clint sighed, "that about sums it up I think."

Coulson let out a long, slow sigh. "Wow."

* * *

><p>The mobile operations headquarters Coulson was using was a beehive of activity.<p>

Communications personnel and analysts were speaking into headsets and typing madly at computer keyboards trying to find any intel they could on the possible whereabouts of Laura Matthers, aka Yelena Belova, aka Nadine Roman, aka Natalia Romanova, aka the Black Widow.

"Sit rep," barked Coulson as he walked in, a seemingly docile Clint Barton in tow.

"No results on CCTV in or around the apartment."

"Agents report no sign of the target at Cross Tech."

"Just collating known travel patterns and canvassing all airports, bus stations, and train stations."

"Checking on possible safe house locations in a ten block radius of her apartment."

"Chatter on the intelligence spectrum is nil."

"Great. So what you're telling me is we have no leads?" asked Coulson, sparing a pointed glance for Clint.

"None yet, sir," said Alisandra Morales, Coulson's second-in-command on-site, as she walked up to meet the two new arrivals. She was doing her best NOT to look at Barton.

Couslon sighed.

"What are we going to do about this, Clint?"

Clint shrugged. "She's not leaving the city, so at least that's one worry off our list."

Coulson turned a dubious glance at his protégé.

"Oh? She's just been informed, on very good authority I might add, that SHIELD has had her in its sights for termination for at least the last few weeks. Her cover at Cross Technologies has effectively been blown, and she's only managed to escape due to the incompetence of the agent assigned to neutralize her. Can you give me one good reason why she wouldn't be halfway back to Moscow by now?"

Clint ignored the provocation and simply said, "She's not with the Red Room anymore. Returning to Moscow would be as much of a death sentence as LA might seem right now. She also has reason to believe that SHIELD might be open to negotiations and is quite possibly her only option short of going freelance."

Coulson clicked his tongue, but didn't say anything. Clint took that as permission to continue.

"Most importantly she has unfinished business with Cross Technologies. I believe that they are working with Hammer Industries under the orders of the Red Room to produce the stolen Stark technology before we can make use of it. I think the Black Widow wants to make sure that doesn't happen. Her mission isn't to oversee a project for the Red Room, it's to destroy it."

"Ok," said Coulson his eyes expressing the depth of his doubt. "How did you come by this intel? Did the Black Widow volunteer it during your little heart-to-heart?"

"No," admitted Clint. "But my gut tells me it's right."

"Your gut?" Coulson restrained himself from heaving yet another long sigh. "Clint, I've never had reason to doubt your instincts before, but…"

"Then don't!" interjected Clint with vehemence. "Phil, trust me on this. I read Romanoff just like you read me all those years ago. She's desperate for a way out, I can feel it in her. There's no way what she was doing at Cross had anything to do with Red Room oversight, she was too far from the action even as Cross' PA. C'mon, you know as well as I do that if there's even a chance that I'm right she's far too valuable an asset to let slip away or to terminate on sight. Best of all she can help us with our own goal: stop Cross from utilizing stolen Stark weapons design."

"Secondary goal," put in Coulson wryly. "Our first was to neutralize the most dangerous assassin in current circulation."

"We can do both if we recruit her," shot back Clint.

"Yeah, and how did that work out for you when you proposed it to her? How's the headache?"

Clint unconsciously rubbed his head. "I'll live."

"Let's assume you're right Clint – an assumption I'm not real comfortable with right now – how are we supposed to recruit her and get the intel we need? She's off the grid, disappeared into the wind. All of our best efforts so far have given us exactly zilch."

"Just let me get back to Cross, my cover is still good. I have a feeling that we won't need to find the Black Widow, she'll find us."

Coulson stared at Clint for a beat, trying to gauge where his agent's head was at. Finally he shook his head.

"Wow, that is just such a comforting thought, Clint."

* * *

><p>Clint was getting antsy. It had been two days and there had been no sign of the Widow. There were some murmurs in the office when Laura Matthers hadn't appeared for work, but Cross had immediately stifled them when he announced that she had called him and asked for some leave time as a family emergency had come up.<p>

Clint looked askance at the CEO when he was told, but hadn't said anything. It was possible that Romanoff had actually called in for leave, trusting that Clint wasn't going to break her cover since it would likely jeopardize his own, but he didn't believe that she would have left even that much of a trail to be followed. He wondered why Cross was seemingly going out of his way to make excuses for an absent employee.

In the meantime he managed to make a few more connections with his own research. It had been a gamble since he'd had to directly confront some mid-level managers with some uncomfortable questions, but time was running out and he couldn't afford to pussy-foot around things any more. He was within reach of a location for the off-the-books project, he could feel it, all he needed was one final break.

Just as he was looking into some dubious delivery records to the outskirts of the city in which the mileage didn't add up Clint looked up with surprise as William Cross himself stormed into his office.

"I don't appreciate being made a fool of Mr. Benton! I don't appreciate being lied to to my face!"

The smile of greeting froze on Clint's face as he looked the industrialist in the eye and his blood went cold. Had he been made? Had the disappearance of Matthers sent Cross' natural suspicion into overdrive and cause him to look more deeply into Clint's cover?

"Sir?" he finally said, deciding to play his role until the bitter end.

"I pay you to keep me safe. I pay you to ensure my projects reach completion! I pay you to make sure no one infiltrates my organization!" screamed Cross, his voice getting louder and more shrill with each statement.

Clint merely nodded. "Yes sir."

"Then do your job!" barked Cross without any further preamble. "Someone has infiltrated my organization and they need to be dealt with. Now!"

He threw a folder onto Clint's desk and his voice suddenly became very low as he muttered with quiet menace, "Why I need to have this information provided to me by outside sources I don't know. Prove to me that you can do your job and aren't the monumental fuck-up you appear to be and you just might live to get your last paycheque."

Cross' eyes smouldered, there was no other word for it.

Clint looked down at the file and flipped it open. He saw exactly what he expected. A picture of Laura Matthers was clipped to a detailed report on the Black Widow, her known background, and her recent infiltration of Cross Technologies. It looked like the Red Room had finally caught up to their wayward asset.

Clint looked up at Cross.

"Matthers?" he said, mustering as much confusion as he could manage on his face.

A terse nod was his only reply for a moment before Cross added, "There is a facility. It's on the edge of town. We are doing a very special experiment there. Off the books. Black ops for the government and strictly need to know."

"And your head of security didn't need to know?" asked Clint with a dubious raise of his eyebrow.

"He did not. Not until I was informed by sources apparently better equipped to do his job that a supposed employee of mine was actually a terrorist planning on destroying work aimed at giving the US government a leg up on global threats."

Clint inwardly winced at the bald-faced lie, but outwardly he only nodded. Obviously Alvin Benton wasn't meant to survive long regardless of the outcome of this assignment.

"As of now you are to directly oversee the security at the facility. If she isn't there tonight she will be soon and I want her terminated with extreme prejudice. If this is not resolved satisfactorily, assuming she does not kill you herself, then they will have a very hard time identifying your body…if they ever find it. Have I made myself clear, Mr. Benton?"

Without waiting for a reply Cross turned on his heel and left the office.

Clint watched him stalk away and then sat down heavily at his desk. Well, at least now he knew where to look for her.


	6. Chapter 6

Clint actually debated calling in Coulson to send a team along with him to the facility. For about five minutes.

He was already skating on the thinnest ice possible and doing anything else at this point would likely leave him without a job (best case scenario) or dead (the more likely one). Despite this Clint just couldn't shake the idea that the only outcome he could expect with a SHIELD strike team behind him, Coulson's orders notwithstanding, would be the Black Widow's death.

For some reason he still didn't want that.

It wasn't like he wasn't used to disregarding orders anyway; in for a penny, in for a pound, right?

Maybe they could both go freelance. Yeah great, two assassins trailed by both SHIELD and the Red Room. What a life.

He could always throw himself on Fury's mercy. The thought put a crooked smile on his face.

Shaking his head Clint decided to jettison the rumination. He'd made his decision days ago, now he just had to follow it through. Hell, he'd never worried too much about the consequences of his actions before, why start now?

Clint spent the rest of the afternoon inspecting his equipment and watching the clock. He didn't have a time frame for her arrival at the facility, but he knew it would be soon and it would be after dark. He was patient, he could wait her out.

* * *

><p>Natasha didn't know what had happened to Barton since they'd spoken, or what SHIELD was going to do once they discovered their agent's failure, but until that became apparent she still had a job to do. If she was going to die at the hands of another for the crimes she had committed so be it; she'd continue on her path until the bitter end.<p>

It had taken her a few days to put things in order, collecting the various items she'd need from the caches she had stashed throughout the city. Avoiding surveillance had been challenging, but it had been a welcome diversion from her current train of thought.

What the hell had the SHIELD agent been playing at? He must have had plenty of opportunities to kill her. But who could believe that story about bringing her in, helping her even? Was he trying to throw her off her game? She had to admit that if that was his goal it was working.

She kept running through their conversation in her mind and had to admit that he'd been very convincing. Hard to believe that a sniper could be such a talented undercover operative, it took a lot to deceive the Black Widow.

So what if it hadn't been a trick?

She shook that off right away. No. No second guessing. She'd let him live against all of her better judgement, that was the most she could afford to give him. Her trust? Her life? She could almost laugh if the situation didn't nearly bring bitter tears to her eyes.

Gritting her teeth Natasha put all else from her mind. She raised the night vision binoculars to her face and surveyed the seemingly abandoned facility across the empty car park.

The best intel she had been able to gather pointed here. Barton might be close, but she thought she had the drop on him…he and his handlers would probably even assume she had cut and run and if she was lucky their resources would be divided.

As to what Cross might or might not figure out as a result of her absence she couldn't say. He was a slippery one, but ultimately he was a small fish. She was confident she could take anything that degenerate could throw at her.

A final survey of the perimeter didn't raise any alarm bells in her mind. Everything seemed much as it had since she had first staked out the facility. It was time to set the finale in motion. It was time to let her former masters know that they toyed with the Black Widow at their peril. It was time to add some black to her ledger.

Entering the facility like a ghost, Natasha slipped easily into her accustomed role. She became a whirlwind and a shadow.

Her intel had definitely been good, something was going on here. There were more guards here than in the main labs at Cross Technologies and Natasha actually had to work to get past the initial layers of security without tripping off any alarms further in. Good. She needed the workout anyway.

Cross might be heavily defended, he might think himself secure from any kind of retribution for his greed and hunger for power, but in the face of the Black Widow's fury all of the mercenaries in his pay were little more than chaff before the storm.

One by one they fell to the graceful ballet of death which she had mastered: knives and hands and garrotte all working as one in a fluid exchange as she inexorably made her way to the heart of the building, towards the engine of death Cross was constructing for the Red Room and their twisted dreams of murder and destruction.

Natasha allowed a bitter smile to crease her face as she entered a pilfered security code into the panel in front of her. It had been laughably easy to get it, the guard had squealed like a pig and she hadn't even started on her more interesting interrogation techniques. Cross should have put more effort into his hiring practices, she imagined tougher members existed in the Boy Scouts. As the door whisked open she spared a glance for the hallway behind her. Her smile deepened as she surveyed the trail of bodies that lay sprawled on the floor.

* * *

><p>Bow at the ready Clint made his way gingerly through the snaking hallways of the facility shaking his head at the destruction that lay all around him. One person had done all of this? And hadn't yet set off any alarms? He was glad that he wasn't really responsible for Cross' security…he would never have been able to live this down if this had happened on his watch.<p>

How had she done all of this so quickly? He had watched from his perch as the Black Widow had entered the facility and he'd only allowed her a five minute head start…no use letting her know that he was already on her trail. In retrospect perhaps he should have just sprinted after her immediately.

Clint picked up his pace and made his way to the central lab. Luckily for him Cross had provided him with detailed schematics of the building and its security profile. He just might be able to head off the Black widow before she got too deep into the shit.

* * *

><p>The final two guards lay at her feet when she heard the strange swift whistling sound followed by a grunt and the thud of a body hitting the ground. Swiftly turning on her heel, her arms outstretched in a protective stance, she saw the body of a guard she had apparently missed slumped on the ground twelve feet away from her, an arrow protruding from his back. Beyond him stood Barton, now arrayed in a tac vest and infiltration gear with, of all things, a bow in his hands, an arrow nocked and ready.<p>

Natasha breathed deeply, but otherwise remained motionless. It looked like now was when she would pay for letting him live when she had fled her apartment. That had been a stupid mistake, an error in judgement brought on by emotion. Then again maybe she had always known that decision would lead to this moment. Maybe she didn't want retribution after all, maybe it was justice she wanted. She realized that justice at his hands was something she could accept.

By sheer force of habit she ran through several scenarios where she drew her gun and fired before the arrow found its way to her heart, but then she catalogued the red that remained in her ledger and compared it with the wash of black that would be her death at his hands. Slowly she closed her eyes, dropping her arms to her side and standing straight. "This is it then? Will you grant a last wish to the dying?"

"What?" said Clint, apparently confused.

The Black Widow scowled, was he thick?

"I assume your employers don't want Cross to have a weapon of mass destruction on his hands any more than I do. I've opened the way. Just promise me you'll destroy it. The plans have already been taken care of."

She waited for a response, either his voice or the whispered hum of the arrow singing through the air, but when neither came she opened her eyes to see his infuriating smirk again.

Rage stifled her for a moment before she could shout, "Is this a joke to you?! Just do it, don't play games sniper!"

He merely shook his head, his bow dropping as he relaxed his arms. "I think you've got the wrong idea darlin'," he drawled. "If I wanted to kill you I would have done it a week ago when I had you in my sights at your apartment. I already told you what I want."

She shook her head, confusion apparent on her features, "Then what- what the hell is this?"

"This?" said the archer, his smile widening, "this is us taking down Cross for good."

* * *

><p>It was strange having this SHIELD agent walking beside her, giving her a debrief on the full layout of the facility and the known security profile as though they were actually partners. What was he thinking? Was he really this simple? Was he blatantly irresponsible? Or was this some incredibly clever long game playing out to an end even she couldn't see? To what end? He had already had her in his sights, multiple times apparently. One thing she had to admit: Clint Barton was a man who could keep her on her toes. It was a strange feeling.<p>

"So anyway," he concluded, "you're lucky I caught up to you when I did - I mean besides that guy you somehow missed – Cross has some pretty interesting things cooked up from here on in."

She shook her head.

"Not to downplay your contribution, but I find it hard to believe that Cross could have 'cooked up' anything I can't handle."

The archer snorted, "I know, right? CIA douchebag, thinks he's got it all figured out, and you're obviously…well, in a class all your own…but trust me he's had some help on this one. I assume the Red Room gave him some 'advice' he just couldn't say no to…not to mention some resources he wouldn't otherwise have access to."

Natasha quickly stifled the warmth she felt at this man's praise of her skill and centered in on what mattered: the Red Room had provided both instructions *and* resources and she hadn't ferreted it out? She stopped walking and turned to face him, an accusing glance in her eyes.

"That's simply impossible. There is no way the Red Room provided those things and I wasn't aware of it."

His infuriating smile was back in full force.

"Look Natalia…"

"Natasha," she interrupted. The minute the word left her mouth she widened her eyes in shock. Why had she just told this man her name? Her *real* name…or at least the one she kept for herself? The one that she didn't share with others except those few that had been allowed behind her barriers? She quickly composed herself and decided that she had more important things to worry about.

He stopped, nonplussed.

"Um, ok…Natasha. Look, I understand that you're pretty much the unparalleled expert on all things Red Room, and I can also understand how it might be difficult for you to believe that anything associated with them and an op you're on could be a surprise to you, but I can guarantee you that there are things waiting for us over there," he gestured vaguely to the deeper levels of the facility towards which they were walking, "that you are *not* expecting. I don't need to die because you're unwilling to accept that maybe your former handlers weren't as surprised by your defection as you had thought." He shrugged, "I've got enough other reasons why this is likely to end with me in a classified body bag."

She didn't miss the chagrin in his voice, or the sour grimace he made. She wondered what exactly he meant by that.

"Alright," she said tersely, "what have you got?"

* * *

><p>She was surprised at how well they worked together, and she had to admit his intel had saved them a lot of time and effort. Cross might not have been the genius he thought himself to be, but he had made good use of the extra resources the Red Room had provided him with to make the facility nothing short of a fortress. Fortunately for them a fortress was only as strong as its back door.<p>

Her initial scorn at seeing him carry a weapon from out of the stone age was quickly changed to grudging admiration as she saw his skill with it, as well as his impressive arsenal of high tech arrows. One thing she was finding with Agent Barton: he was consistently able to surprise her. That was a rarity.

For his part Barton couldn't help but admire the Black Widow. She was just as deadly in combat as she was under cover and he nearly had to suppress a shudder at the thought of possibly having to fight her. So far they had worked together seamlessly, but he had no idea how long that would play out, or what she would do once they reached their destination. One thing you could say about the Black Widow: she was a cipher. There was a good chance she was only using him until she reached her objective. He had to hope that his show of good faith had not been misplaced…and be ready for the alternative.

"Ok, this is where we split up," she said.

Clint shook his head. "I don't like it. We're stronger together."

The Widow suppressed a sigh and looked at him as if he were a recalcitrant four-year-old. "We don't have time to debate this again, Barton. You know it's the expedient option. There are two key stations ahead and unless we take them out in tandem we risk an alarm getting to the control room."

"You really think they haven't figured out something's up by now?" he asked incredulously.

A momentary look of concern passed across her features at his question, but she simply shook her head.

"I don't know. It does seem odd that nothing obvious has been sounded at this point. There could be a silent alarm going off as we speak…we don't know. All we can do is work with the intel we have and prepare for the worst. Either way, this is still the most efficient use of our resources…you're running low on arrows."

"I can still handle myself," he growled.

"Then prove it," she said as she turned and stalked off down the corridor towards her objective.

Clint shook his head, "Shit, her and Hill should go out for coffee," he mumbled under his breath.

* * *

><p>The guards at the station seemed surprised when Clint busted in on them, taking the first two out easily with his bow. Apparently a silent alarm hadn't been tripped. Despite this Clint still couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. They had fought through some fairly stiff resistance, but it still seemed too easy.<p>

He moved in to engage the third guard and nearly had him incapacitated when someone grabbed him from behind in a choke hold.

Clint pushed back with his legs and flung them around the neck of the man he had been fighting as he reached up to grab the arms around his neck. A quick twist of his legs took care of one of them. Unfortunately the other one had tightened his hold and didn't seem interested in letting go. Clint let go with one hand and tried to elbow his captor, but despite getting in a few good strikes the man refused to loosen his hold.

Clint thrashed around, finally pushing backwards with his legs and slamming the man into the nearest wall. Still no good. His vision was starting to blur due to lack of oxygen.

That's when he saw her step in through the doorway and take in the scene. She was blurring, but it was obviously the Widow. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. What was she waiting for? He saw her take in the fallen guards and then look up at the two men still struggling against the wall. Finally she raised her gun and suddenly Clint was taken with the conviction that he didn't want her to shoot. As everything started to finally fade out Clint couldn't be sure if she was aiming for him, his captor, or both of them.

Finally the shot went off and he fell to the floor.


End file.
